Wilde Hunting
by kitkatkick
Summary: Dumbledore leaves Lyra with a mission to find information about her bloodline, resorting to drastic measures. She must go to the past and chase down a lead from Flamel to find the last known traces of her family records in order to prevent a political collapse in the present. Team-up with Newt and Jacob.*FB Spoilers!* Mostly focused on OC.
1. Where

**Wilde Hunting**

 **Summary (extended):** In the present, after Voldemort has been defeated and the war over, the Wizarding World is at the cusp of a major collapse from a subsequent power struggle ensued by people trying to exert their control over the community, where there is now no one to claim certain positions of power and influence. Before his death, Dumbledore hypothesized that Lyra Wyldt would become a crucial part in helping stabilize and guide the newly liberated Wizarding community, but she must first piece together the fragments of her past that would allow her to lay claim to her birthright.

 **A/N:** Keep in mind that this story pulls a lot of details about an OC from another developing story that I have yet to organize and post, so I apologize if things don't make sense or don't follow. I know I should've done the other one first, but the muse would just **not** leave me alone, and this one had to come out. I will try my best to explain as much as I can in this story without sounding too pedantic.

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 **1\. Where**

Loud crack. Big Flash. Horrid nauseous feeling.

Disorientation. And vertigo? Loads of that.

Eyes, blurry. Legs, shaky. Flighty feeling in the pit of the stomach. Hands clutched tightly to the chest, chest expanding and contracting erratically. Something wet and drippy. Not good.

Follow instructions, remember. One breath in, okay. Two breaths, better. Back straightening, eyes clearing. Standing at full length, glancing side to side. Movement, but moving away. Danger? Not imminent. Three, four breaths, relaxing and lowering hands.

The cobbled alleyway was dark and empty, allowing for a quick break to catch one's breath in peace and privacy. It was different here. Much more so than previously expected. Though as much should have been foreseen, expectations were built from spotty, far-off memories from senile old men that were starting to lose themselves.

Leaning against the wall, primary inspection. Vision now clear enough to discern that initial blurriness was caused more by early-morning fog than by secondary effects from the process. Vertigo partly to be blamed on the uneven cobblestone street. The stiffness was terribly uncomfortable, but something that must be worked off by walking. Nothing to be done about that now. Breathing now equalized to its normal rhythm, chest no longer heaving as much as before. But there was still something wet and drippy.

Lifting both loosely closed fists, one of them streaked bright red. Deep breath. Hand open. Broken pieces of glass and gold. Now empty chain hanging loosely across the chest. This was also expected, based on the wisdom of wise old wizards with much more knowledge and experience than she, though the implications were no less terrifying. One more deep breath. Deep, shaky breath.

Glancing around one last time, much more alert now, Lyra quickly took out a kerchief from her coat pocket and emptied the bloody fragments of the now-ruined Time-Turner onto it. She used one end to hastily wipe the blood off her hand before tying it up into a bundle and gingerly putting it back into her pocket. Turning her back to the street, she silently slid out her hand from her sleeve and mended the cuts as best as she could. However, it seemed as though pieces of glass were still embedded in her skin, and combined with the magical nature of what caused the lesions, it was proving much more difficult to heal anything at all. She'd never been very good at healing magic in the first place. The best she could do was to stop the bleeding with a haphazard spell and let the slack sleeve of her dark woolen coat dangle over her hand to obscure the injury to public eyes.

Lyra slid her wand back into its resting position inside the sleeve of her uninjured hand and glanced toward the bustling street just outside her quiet alley. Despite the fog, she could see people passing by, unaware of the oddly-dressed, disheveled young witch in the dark backstreet, both engrossed in their daily business and also partially blinded by the London fog themselves. She had to get in motion, there were things to be done now that she was here. She pushed off the wall with momentum and intention when something made her take pause.

Catching glimpses of the women passing by, Lyra was strangely thankful she had decided to cut her hair above her shoulders, then noticed she was more out of place than she realized due to a very particular and previously overlooked detail.

She had an innate knowledge that fashion would most definitely be different here, but worrying about all the other preparations she had to ready and all the other information she had to memorize, she never bothered to research about it. It seemed almost unimportant, but, with bitterness, she now admitted it was equally important to her mission to not walk out in public in a coat, mini-skirt, and t-shirt. Hastily scanning a couple of young women as they passed, she decided to copy one of their outfits almost completely. Wand out again, she ran it down the front of her torso, silently willing her clothes to Transfigure into a knee-length, shapeless, deep blue frock dress. Concentrating, she metamorphosed her hair from her natural waves to a neat, straight bob just under her jaw. Her boots dissolved down to low, black Oxford flats. Definitely not the height of fashion, but it would have to do for now. There were more pressing matters to deal with, and an indescribable sense of anxiety starting to bubble inside her.

Once again concealing her wand, she started toward the main street again, mustering all the fake confidence she could to hide the fact she wasn't supposed to be there at all. Stepping out into the street, the first thing she noticed is that sidewalks were not very prominent, nor were traffic rules or laws, for that matter. People were crossing the street where they pleased, and automobiles simply had to deal with them. As it was still quite early, it wasn't nearly as busy or chaotic as she'd imagined it to be, though there were a good number of people hurrying off to work.

Lyra was so distracted, curiously inspecting the people and buildings and other artifacts she'd only seen in photographs before, that when the disorientation found her again, she entered into a small, sudden panic that made her pause in her tracks and jerk her head around in paranoia, causing a young gentleman walking behind her to run into her. Both lost their balance, but the young man was able to catch himself and put two steadying hands on Lyra's shoulders.

"Oh, terribly sorry miss. Are you alright?" he asked, bringing Lyra back to her senses.

"Yes, I'm so sorry," she mirrored his tone and accent, remembering herself. "Was my fault. Going the wrong way." She shrugged and gave him a soft smile. The young man smiled and nodded, stepping around Lyra and going on his way.

Lyra made her way to the side of a building, in a spot where she could stand still and get her bearings. Looking around, her injured hand began to pulse with pain, her heart began to race, her stomach to fall, her mind to spin. Her breath got away from her, and her wide eyes scanned the unfamiliar street. She had no idea where she was, or where to go, had no one to talk to or ask for help, had only a mission but no way to complete it. She struggled with her runaway thoughts, the screaming pain in her hand, and the panic spreading cold through her veins when an instinct overcame her and made her break off at a brisk pace down the street in the direction she had just come from. She found the alley she first appeared in, walked in, summoned some fog about her to conceal her, then quietly Disapparated.

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 **A/N:** Did I mention this is actually my first story on this site? It will take me a while to get used to the formatting, so bear with me! I realize this might be a bit short for a chapter, but I promise they will get longer. More explanations coming throughout the next couple of chapters, so hang tight!


	2. How

**2\. How**

Lyra Apparated again at the top of a tall building, and stood on the concrete ledge, overlooking the street she had just been on and a couple of blocks of what seemed like residential streets beyond that. She must remain calm and think, must find where she is, and must do what she needs to and get back before she cause irreparable damage both to herself and to everyone and everything around her. There was no time for panic. 

Looking down at the city, she looked for something, some landmark or familiar building that would give her a clue. London in the 1920′s couldn't be much different than the time she'd just come from, some buildings or street layouts must be similar. Not as if she were very familiar with London in the first place, it wasn't her hometown, but she figured something must pop out at her, especially around the Ministry. She looked and looked, but her mind was racing, and she could neither concentrate nor make any connections. She racked her brain for a spell for this situation, but nothing came to her. Desperation led to frustration, forcing tears to spill from her eyes. When she entered into a panic, her mind went blank and all the knowledge she'd worked so hard to amass became useless, and not being able to call on it when she needed it the most only exacerbated her frustration and anxiety. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, clutching her injured hand to her chest again, and took another deep breath. Two breaths. Three. She swallowed back the tears, forced down the panic, and let anger fill her instead. 

" _You'll figure it out_ ," read the letter from Dumbledore that had sparked this entire situation. " _I give you the means, and trust you will find the way._ " 

It was infuriating how much he left to her cleverness, and on more than one occasion she questioned his leadership, as he never had plans, only ideas, and any who followed him were expected to "figure it out" on their own. However, she was also angry at herself for allowing herself to be swayed by his expectations of her. She was a prideful girl, she admitted, and Dumbledore leading her into exponentially more intricate and difficult situations, outlining her skills and intelligence, assuaged her further to keep accepting involvement with such situations simply because she liked being the only one capable of certain things, one of the few Dumbledore counted as a near-equal. But, as such, she had also seen peeks of the Dumbledore under the facade, and acknowledged he went too far at times, like now, purposefully. 

The long and exhausting search for her family history and inheritance had proven a dead-end, even after the raid on the Ministry led by Death Eater fearmongers. The visit to Wales following her squib family's roots had also proven mostly fruitless, except for it leading to the location of her grandfather's wand, which was still unobtainable either way. Every lead came up empty, every source of information went underground or ended up dead once Voldemort and the Death Eaters began rising, every piece of information destroyed and buried. Even Dumbledore himself, delving into his own memories for anything that could help, found nothing. It was only until his friend, Nicolas Flamel, provided a clue that they found anything useful. 

In her third year, Dumbledore reached out to Flamel, an alchemist that had lived beyond a normal wizard's life span and had amassed knowledge and experience just as vast, asking what he knew about the Wyldt family, if anything, or what he knew about the crest found on the vault opened by Lyra's blood. Flamel sent Dumbledore a piece of parchment in response, something from the Ministry that survived the First Wizarding War that seemed so oddly curious to him, he had kept it through the years. 

It was a sign-out sheet, signed by one Theseus Scamander, for any and all records on one Wilde family and any piece of inheritance of the same to be withdrawn from the Ministry vaults and handed to him. It seemed odd, as there was no connection between the Scamanders and Lyra's family, and more so as Flamel pointed out the date on the parchment was after Leta Lestrange had been killed by Grindelwald at her family's mausoleum. Theseus had been devastated, and became blinded by grief and rage. The last thing on his mind was collecting anything from the Ministry that had nothing to do with either his late fiancee or the malevolent wizard that had killed her. Flamel himself had thought it odd at the time, coming across the parchment after a nasty attack form Grindelwald's followers, but as a war was going on, the opportunity to ask never presented itself, time got away from him and so it stayed until now. 

Dumbledore then reached out to Newton Scamander, Theseus's brother and his former student with which he was still close, to ask about the records, but Newton also didn't know anything about it and never heard Theseus mention the Wilde family, but he provided as much information as he could about his brother's whereabouts during the time he supposedly received custody of the records, as well as his own, and what he knew about Grindelwald at the time. There was no way to ask Theseus, as he had passed away decades before. With Dumbledore seemingly having run out of ideas and needing to dedicate his energies to more pressing matters, this left Lyra with another dead end, but with a piece of parchment that she subsequently pored over for months. 

After exercising every magical test she knew, could come up with, and could find in the books in the library, she finally found success when her magical tracking abilities surfaced at the end of her third year. Before heading for her semester in Drumstrang, she mentioned to Dumbledore she found a trace of someone's magic on the parchment, on the signature to be exact. It wasn't until after coming back from Drumstrang and refining her abilities that she was able to identify the magic signature as Gellert Grindelwald's. who's magical residue she had come in contact with during her time at Drumstrang. She had stormed into Dumbledore's office with the revelation, much to the old professor's pain and chagrin. 

It would still be another year before Dumbledore invested any attention in Lyra's quest again, now at a time where she and her family's mysterious history was becoming more and more relevant to the current political atmosphere, only to be cut short by the directive for her to flee and remain hidden until Voldemort was defeated, for fear of her safety and the survival of the Wizarding community. After Dumbledore's death, it was McGonagall who came to Lyra, urging her to come back to Hogwarts and revealing the plan that Dumbledore had worked out with Flamel. 

The plan was nothing short of convoluted. Using a ( _highly illegally)_ modified Time-Turner that was still in McGonagall's possession, stripped of its hour-long limitation, and Lyra's intricate magic-manipulating abilities, they would use a fragment of the Philosopher's Stone Dumbledore had kept hidden after the stone's destruction to funnel energy into the Time-Turner. Dumbledore hypothesized that Lyra would be able to translate the magic that would make one immortal into eternal temporal magic that could potentially allow her the opportunity to go back to the time of the First Wizarding War and have ample time to track down where her family's records might be, or at least find out what Grindelwald wanted with them in the first place and how it was that Theseus Scamander was involved. 

Not only was this unheard of, and almost practically _insane,_ but too much was riding on Dumbledore's guesses and expectations. Despite being a brilliant and experienced spell-caster, even Lyra doubted she would be capable of such a feat. Not to mention time magic was unstable, dangerous, and illegal the way they were putting it to use. How much would she be risking or changing for the sake of finding answers? But something told her she had to, and just the fact that Dumbledore had set the bar so high for her made her feel as if she couldn't, she would be less, and that also carried the potential for damage to a lot of lives outside her own. That's how he kept his influence over her, and it drove her mad, but knew she could do nothing except do what was expected of her.

Lyra spent the next couple of months studying the newly modified Time-Turner and reading the Philosopher Stone's magical signature, learning how it worked and how to manipulate it. With the notes from Dumbledore about both, and the information provided by both Flamel and Newton Scamander, along with her growing desperation and impatience, she finally decided to put the plan in motion at the beginning of winter. 

Her return would also prove to be near impossible. With both Dumbledore and Flamel having passed away, there would be no one to help bring her back. She had to, of her own accord, find another Time-Turner in the 1920′s, modify it the way Dumbledore had, and use Flamel's Philosopher's Stone at that time in the same method as her arrival. She could barely blame herself for being more preoccupied with her arrival and return than on anything else. In fact, every other piece of information seemed, by comparison, completely insignificant. 

It was all great and well that Theseus Scamander was currently in France, scouring Paris for clues of the whereabouts of Girndelwald and Credence, and he would be home in a couple of days, that Newton Scamander was off somewhere in Ireland dealing with a creature or another (that he could not disclose as it was illegal then and now), and that since the attack on the Lestrange mausoleum Grindelwald had not been spotted, but now the issue was that she had neither studied a map of London of this era, hadn't made a plan as to how to tackle the situation once she got here, and, now that she considered it, didn't ask about Flamel's location, which would have been useful to know should she need somewhere to regroup. Like she did now. There was also a bitter taste in her mouth and she gingerly turned over the idea in her mind that Dumbledore hadn't cared to provide her with this information either, and, were he alive, this would be a great experiment in time magic and test of Lyra's meddle for him to oversee. 

Breathing the cool air, she felt the sun getting warmer on her face, and watched as the fog dissipated slowly. She quickly cast a privacy charm on herself to keep prying eyes from seeing her. She sat down on the ledge and put her face in her hands, breathing for a second. What were her options? Lyra looked up at the gray London sky slowly regaining its color, brightened by the sun, and she breathed.

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 **A/N:** First and foremost, I'm not bashing Dumbledore! I realize this is a common trend, but in my point of view, he wasn't as altruistic and we'd like to believe. Remember at some point he and Grindelwald did share the same views, and it seems logical there may have been one or two of his "followers" that noticed pieces of his full nature and became wary of it. Even Harry began to get frustrated by it? The relationship between Dumdledore and Lyra is neutral at best, which will be explained more at length later.

Also, I am taking SO many liberties with time magic, which in itself is not explained very well in canon, other than its unstable, illegal, and not used. There are some quips about how in 2012 (?) some wizard or other makes it possible to travel back to any time, for as long as one likes, and return whenever with no side-effects, so I'm basing this off that. Another thing to keep in mind that will also be elaborated upon later is Lyra's _type_ of magic. I will say only that it is different, and will become self-explanatory later.

I hope that this was an okay explanation for now. Next chapter will return to storytelling. Au revoir~


	3. But First

**3\. But First...**

After sitting for some minutes up on the ledge of the building and leveling her head, Lyra figured it would be wise to first find Nicolas Flamel and asking his council before proceeding. Not only would this reconfirm the information she had received from him in her time, but would also provide helpful information on traversing through this time seamlessly, hopefully keeping her from meddling too much in this time and keeping the ripples at a minimum.

This, however, presented two problems. The first was that she only remembered some vague detail about Flamel living in Paris at the time. Both Flamel himself and Newton Scamander had mentioned it, but since they did not communicate directly to her, only through Dumbledore, she was relying solely on what she remembered Dumbledore mentioning in passing. She neither trusted the off-handed knowledge the old professor chose, or did not choose, to disclose to her, nor her attention and memory of it, as she rarely was the type to hang on his every word. The fact of the matter was that Lyra was currently somewhere in London, and she had no real means to travel to France without raising suspicion.

She could easily Apparate to the Beauxbatons school in France and make her way to Paris from there, but not only would that require a great amount of magic, it would also make her easily detectable with such a long-distance jump, and she could not afford to be caught nor raise too many questions. No, she thought, the less magic she used, the better. She figured Metamorphosing might be her best bet. She wasn't the best at turning into flying beasts, but the one she felt confident in would be big and fast enough to get her across the channel in the least amount of time as possible. It would be difficult to hide, however, since griffins were quite conspicuous, especially so in France.

Even when she arrived to Paris, she would need to pinpoint exactly where Flamel lived without being detected. Since she'd never met Flamel face-to-face, and had therefore never been in the presence of his magic, she couldn't magically trace him. She could try to trace the Philosopher's Stone itself, but inanimate objects were always much trickier, and much less accurate. She did, however, have the parchment that had been in his possession for years that most certainly had his scent on it, and she knew exactly where she could get something that could help her track down his scent.

Her head feeling much lighter and clearer now that some sort of plan was coming together, Lyra figured she could simply drop in at the Magical Menagerie on Diagon Alley and buy a Niffler or Kneazel, then either later bring it back to the shop or entrust it to Flamel to take care of or find a new home for. A griffin could easily carry either in its talons on a long journey without hindering flying endurance. Sure, she could find either in France, but her ability to communicate with beasts that stemmed from her magic-sensing skill was limited to the language the beast was familiar with, and, sadly, she never cared to learn French. It felt somehow insulting that there might be a Puffskein out there that spoke better French than she did. She made a note to devote some time to that some day.

Lyra felt a bit heartless being so opportunistic to an innocent beast, but she was confident this would be the solution with the least amount of repercussions, and made up her mind to follow through with it.

Problem number two required a whole lot more ingenuity than she had the energy to muster up. When she got to Flamel, how would she explain who she was, how she knew him, what she was doing there, how she found him, and then persuade him to help her? That was a headache in and of itself. Lyra tucked that problem away for a later time, when she had some food and maybe a hot drink, and set to work on the first problem's solution. Now with some direction, a goal to focus on that she could handle, she felt more motivated. She had to get herself to Diagon Alley.

On the ledge, she wondered if she could simply Apparate at the Leaky Cauldron despite being in a different time. Being that the Ministry was full of cowards who stopped their research into the topic, there was no real knowledge about how Apparating worked when the location exists in a different time than what the caster knows. The Leaky Cauldron had been in the same spot for ages, so destination would not be an issue, and she had a sort of sentimental affinity for the place, as she had to work there when she lived in Diagon Alley, so deliberation and determination were also not a problem. But she was sure that the two pubs were fundamentally different. The Leaky Cauldron she could visualize was different than the current one, she was convinced. The street would surely be different, the buildings surrounding it would also surely be different.

How detailed of a mental image of the pub's muggle entrance could she form? Closing her eyes, she brought to her mind's eye the old, dilapidated wooden sign hinging above an nondescript door set deep on the red brick wall of a narrow, nondescript building. Vagueness was part of the design of the muggle entrance, she realized, and couldn't really come up with anything more detailed than that. Turning her full determination and deliberation to the one thing unique to the Leaky Cauldron, the sign, and sliding her wand out at the ready, prepared for splinching should it happen, Lyra stepped off the ledge and disapparated.

 **000000**

Miraculously, it worked. Lyra apparated whole at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. The muggles walking about noticed nothing as Lyra entered the pub. She had been right, it was distinctly different. The sign looked much less worn, the door less grimy, and the brick wall seemed almost clean? She supposed the years had not been kind to the building, and given that this was not the pub's main entrance, the owners did not care for it nearly as much as the wizarding side entrance.

Inside, the bartender and maids looking decidedly less wrinkly and decrepit. There was a much livelier atmosphere than she was used to, but the clientele was still the same mix of hodgepodge witches, wizards, and creatures. Inspired by her first success in getting herself here and being in part of the wizarding world, she whizzed through the pub and into Diagon Alley.

She zig-zagged through the people, avoiding eye contact, and just generally avoiding looking at anybody's face for too long, somehow afraid someone might recognize her. She was relieved to find that Diagon Alley had gone almost practically unchanged after so many decades. The shops were all where she remembered them to be, with some exceptions, cafes and trinket shops she didn't recognize. With her growing relief and confidence of place, her pace quickened. As she walked past store windows, she pretended to be window-shopping to give a socially acceptable excuse for facing away awkwardly while plowing forward, but she was rarely looking at the products inside the shops. Instead, she inadvertently caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a huge and especially reflective window and stopped short, dumbfounded.

 _Dreadful_ was not enough to encompass the mess of a person staring back at her from the window. The frock she had conjured up made her look like a trash bag, her short hair now puffy and shapeless thanks to the clinging humidity from the morning, her shoes speckled with grime, and with her injured arm held at her chest, she looked pitiful. Surely she would frighten anyone she approached, and she definitely did not want to show up on Flamel's doorstep looking like this. Let alone, should she need to ask anyone for help, she doubted anyone would care to help her like this. If being a Slytherin taught her anything, it was that appearance was most important when asking someone for a favor. If you would not trust anyone that looked like you, then how can you expect others to? She exhaled sharply and blamed a certain golden-haired boy for her inability to let her appearance be what it was. Before heading to the Menagerie, Lyra first turned and scanned the street. Just a little down the road and across was what she was looking for. She swiftly crossed the street to Flourish and Blotts and tucked inside.

The bookstore was overflowing with books upon books, on shelves, on desks, on tables, in boxes, just as she knew it to be. It soothed her further to see something else familiar, and for a fraction of a second she forgot this was not the Flourish and Blotts she frequented during the summers. Lyra then just as suddenly felt a great pang of heartbreak as she remembered the bookstore had been destroyed when the Death Eaters and other followers of Voldemort started laying waste to Diagon Alley as a scare tactic. She absentmindedly ran her uninjured hand across a shelf filled with colorful spell books. She let out a long sigh and shook her head. She couldn't do anything about it, and it was a shame, but that's not what she was here for.

A store clerk had spotted her and smiled

"Could I help you find anything, darling?"

The sound of the clerk's voice addressing her made her startled and she jumped, retracting her hand instinctively.

"Um, no, I think I know where to find it. Thank you," she smiled back as best she could, but it felt strange and awkward to speak to the clerk for some reason.

Relying on the layout of the store being exactly as she remembered it, she waved her hand up and from somewhere on the top shelves at the back of the shop three thin books came to her. With another wave of her hand, the books opened, hovering in the space just in front of her, and systematically flipped from page to page. The clerk watched Lyra curiously. She had summoned some celebrity photo books to quickly peruse and gather what was currently in style and, hopefully, copy one of those to look less like a trash bag and more like the respectable young witch she was and wanted to be perceived as.

After a couple of minutes, Lyra figured she had gathered enough inspiration to do what she needed to. She sent the three books back to their spot and zipped out of the shop, the clerk giving her a scornful look through her smile, obviously unhappy she had come in to look at the books without buying anything.

Crossing back toward the shop with the large window, she glanced from side to side to make sure no one was looking too intently at her, then swiftly slid out her wand and waved it over her clothes.

The shapeless frock turned into a pastel blue dress with long mesh sleeves and a matching knit sleeveless slip underneath. The wide, square boat neck that scooped under her collar bone had a shiny border made up of tiny beads in a dainty, intricate pattern down and across the torso. The dress clung closely to her body, but was not tight. The dress's scalloped hem stopped a hand above her knee, a blue fringe filling the gap. On top, her coat turned from wool to a fitted, warm, thick velvet coat in a deep navy with silver buttons that ran longer than the dress. She was also careful to make sure the sleeves were just long enough to hide her injured hand until she could take care of it better. She cursed the current fashion trends as her shoes changed to low t-strap heels that she was sure would start proving problematic soon enough.

She willed her dark hair to return to its wavy nature, keeping the length just below her chin, still much longer than what was acceptable in this time. Her waves looked much better now, and Lyra looked and felt overall much more put-together and capable. Satisfied with her work, she turned and headed down the street again, still holding her injured hand to her torso to keep from bumping into anyone.

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 **A/N:** Another long, boring, descriptive chapter! Look, I'm not the greatest at setting the scene in a concise manner. I'm trying my best. Anyway, I forgot to mention her name is pronounced "LIE-ruh," though soon she will start using her middle name, for which I will include pronunciation notes at the beginning of the chapter where it is introduced and not like three chapters too late (my bad). Y'all, clothes are so hard to describe, I don't know if I got my point across. And also *wink wink* _golden-haired boy_ *wink wink* (shh I know he's platinum blond, but pale gold also fits just go with me here). The next chapter is gonna be fun~


	4. Help?

**4\. Help?**

Without much finesse, Lyra entered the Magical Menagerie and headed straight for the back where she remembered the Nifflers were kept. She was getting more and more confident in the assumption that most of these shops in Diagon Alley, the ones that serve, have been serving, and will continue to serve Hogwarts students, all had the same layouts she was familiar with, so she moved with much more purpose now, quelling the initial anxiety and disorientation that first plagued her.

"Welcome...?" she heard the old saleswoman say with an inflection as she stormed past.

"Hullo, won't bother you much, just need to talk to your nifflers," she threw over her shoulder. The saleswoman just watched her in silence, not sure how to respond.

The Menagerie stocked giant poisonous snails, intelligent rats, cats, and a variety of other curious animals including ravens and owls. Lyra could've wasted a whole afternoon asking the beasts for help, but animals were difficult to converse with. Owls and ravens got very personal about fulfilling favors, ravens being spiteful and snarky, and owls being prideful and strangely self-important. Snails didn't really have sentience to speak of, and rats, although bloody intelligent, would prove difficult to keep track of in a city-wise search for one man. Cats were excellent hunters, but trackers they were not, and Lyra knew them to be notoriously selfish and finicky. Nifflers were difficult to rein in, but, aside from wanting to hoard as much treasure as they could, had pure intensions and were very quick-witted. Kneazles were vastly more intelligent than regular cats, much bigger, more focused, and much easier to reason with.

Contemplating her choices further, he passed a cage full of humming Puffskeins and a very large, very sparkly tortoise with a bejeweled carapace. The containers of toads lined along the walls were abuzz with croaking and grunting. In the middle of the shop were shelves filled with all sorts of cages and leashes and tanks, food, medicines, ointments, and anything one would need to take care of their magical pet.

There were currently no other customers in the shop, so it was quiet, save for the chanting from the toads, soft hooting from some owls in their cages set up in front of the window, on display to the passers-by, and quiet sounds of furry creatures shuffling, moving, and skulking about. Sporadically came a ruffling of feathers and muted crowing. Off on a corner was an abandoned cage with the door hinged open. There should be something living there, but the occupant didn't seem to be very keen about _staying_ there.

On the back wall, Lyra spotted a cage of fuzzy little bodies scurrying over each other and fighting over something shiny. Tucking her necklace into her slip and making sure nothing else shiny was visible, she approached it carefully.

The cage was rectangular and lined with wood shavings, with some shelves propped on the sides to provide levels and little huts and bowls scattered around for hiding and sleeping. Inside the cage were five Nifflers, small mole-like creatures notorious for their affinity for shiny objects and treasure. So notorious, in fact, Gringotts Bank assigned one to each Curse-Breaker under their employment to help them break into ancient tombs and help them unearth treasures.

' _Hello loves_ ,' Lyra whispered sweetly, manipulating her magic to allow communication between herself and the little creatures, ' _can you understand me?_ '

The nifflers were a bit surprised by the human speaking to them in their tongue, but suddenly became excited and Lyra was met by a chorus of " _Yes!_ "

' _Friends, I need some help. I am very lost, I am not from here_ ,' Lyra told the attentive nifflers. She knew at least one or two of them were not bred in captivity and would be sympathetic to her case if she presented it this way. ' _I want to find my friend, but I am not good at tracking. Can you help me find him?_ '

' _Is he shiny?_ ' came the smallest niffler, who she guessed was still a baby. Though, the others didn't seem much bigger than that one.

' _Does he have shiny things?_ ' came another, stepping on the head of the first and looking up expectantly at Lyra.

' _He is not shiny. I think he has shiny things? Maybe he can give you something,_ ' Lyra lied, though not entirely. She was sure Flamel must have something shiny he could give a niffler. The nifflers, however, had lost interest and went back to fighting over a small, shiny piece of metal.

Just then, a raven landed on a shelf behind Lyra and crowed loudly at her, startling her.

' _Babies,_ ' it said, ' _they are babies! Very stupid. They cannot help._ '

Lyra scowled up at the raven. ' _And you're rude. Don't be so loud!_ '

The raven squawked again, but there was no meaning behind it, it was only a yell of resentment.

Turning back to the nifflers, Lyra now saw clearly that the raven was right. Though all different sizes, they were pretty small, and remembering the lesson with nifflers in Professor Hagrid's class, she realized they were nowhere near full grown. She kicked herself for not noticing it as soon as she walked in.

"Even baby Nifflers must be capable," she muttered to herself, then turned swiftly to the saleswoman at the front.

"Ma'am, you wouldn't happen to have fully grown Nifflers, would you?" But she knew the Menagerie mostly sold baby nifflers for young wizards, so they may grow up with their new owner and get used to them. Older nifflers were much harder to domesticate, and much keener on stealing and hunting everything shiny, making them quite uncontrollable and near impossible to train.

"Just what's there, dear," she replied off-handedly. She was distracted helping another customer in the front. The tall customer stole a curious glance over his shoulder at Lyra as she turned around and addressed the nifflers again, the raven watching intently.

' _Are you brothers?_ ' she asked to catch their attention again. They all squealed " _Yes_ " together again. ' _Do you have a mama?'_

' _Before_ ,' came the smallest niffler again. It liked to talk to Lyra the most. ' _Mama won't come back.'_

' _Oh_ ,' replied Lyra sadly, regretting her question, hoping it was because she was sold and not for any other reason. It was still a sad situation for these babies either way. ' _Well, I think you might be a tad bit too small to come with me, I'm afraid,_ ' she continued, to the dismay of the nifflers. They let out a collective sad squeak, but quickly got over it and went back to romping around, kicking up wood shavings. The littlest niffler, however, stood on its hind legs and propped itself up on the bars directly in front of Lyra.

' _Kneazle can help! Raven is mean and help no one, but kneazle is smart and kind_ ,' it said again, twitching its nose up at her, excited to help.

' _There's a kneazle that can help?_ ' Lyra brightened at this, and looked around but could see no kneazle or kneazle cage in sight. Again, she turned over her shoulder with little regard.

"Ma'am, is there a kneazle around? That's not a kitten?"

The saleswoman had finished with the customer and was writing something, but was startled at the sudden call. The tall man was at a shelf in clear view, taking a glance at Lyra, also surprised by her sudden question. Lyra could tell he had been watching her, but was so focused on the matter at hand, she could hardly care. He didn't seem threatening anyway.

"Yes, we should have three kneazles, though they are not caged. They wander around the store, so you'll have to search for them a bit."

Lyra furrowed her brow, unhappy with the answer. The crow then squawked again, this time much louder, surprising the baby Nifflers and making them run under the little covers in their enclosure. The raven seemed pleased with itself for startling them.

' _You leave them alone or I'll purchase you and feed you to a Wampus!_ '

The raven screeched as Lyra leaned over the niffler cage, crooning, ' _No worries, little ones, he can't get you._ ' Slowly, they inched out of their hiding places and sniffed up at Lyra and past her at the raven, who was still watching.

' _The kneazles, can you tell me if they are big?_ '

' _Big! Big!_ ' the little creatures came, and Lyra realized that to a niffler, any kneazle would be big.

' _Okay, wrong question. Are they nice? The kneazles? Can they help me find my friend?_ '

' _They smell!_ ' said the smallest one again, ' _they smell and they find! Like us!_ ' it wiggled its nose at Lyra again and squeaked at her. It was getting increasingly harder to not just take this little baby with her. She smiled and stuck her finger through the bars of the cage. The little one came up to her and she scratched its head as best as she could.

' _Thank you, friend. I will look for the-_ '

"E-excuse m-... Excuse me?"

Half expecting the raven to squawk again and half expecting the saleswoman to yell at her to not be touching the Nifflers, Lyra was thoroughly startled when she heard a man's voice calling to her. She retracted her hand in an instant, spinning on her heel and leaning back, staring wide-eyed at him. When had he come so close?

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Were you talking to the nifflers just now?" he asked with a soft, curious voice and a small, sheepish smile.

"Y-yes...I-" Lyra muttered when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement near the toad tanks behind the young man. It was a kneazle, staring at the toads, and by its size she could discern it had to be at least an adolescent.

"I'm sorry, excuse me," she said as she whizzed past the man, disregarding him entirely for the moment.

' _Friend, can you understand me?_ ' she began, addressing the kneazle as she approached. She kneeled next to it. The cat-like creature perked its ears and looked at Lyra with large, golden eyes.

' _Yes_ ,' it said serenely, ' _you can speak my word?_ '

' _I can_ ,' she began. ' _I need some help. Can you..._ ' but she trailed off.

She noticed the young man hadn't moved from his spot, but had turned and was leaning, watching, and listening intently to her now, a smile still on his thin lips. His eyes seemed to be glinting with curiosity. Clutching her injured hand to her, she suddenly became very shy and embarrassed being watched like that and found she couldn't meet his eye. She felt her face flush. This gift of hers was something she didn't usually use in front of people. It was already curious enough she could do it at all in the first place, a result of the Old Magic from her ancestors, but when others saw it in action, they asked questions she didn't like to hear because they reminded her she didn't have the answers to them herself. And although she could process words and meanings from the creatures she talked with, an outsider would be witness to a spectacle of a young girl making grunts, whimpers, squeaks, and whistles at an animal. It was a humiliating scene, Lyra felt, one she did not like to find herself in.

She needed to talk to the kneazle, needed to find help, but this man would not stop looking at her. He was far too interested for comfort. She stole one more glance at him, and he seemed to be encouraging her to continue with his smile. Lyra felt her face grow hot and she turned back around to the kneazle, who was waiting patiently for her to continue, so she did.

' _Um...can you help me? I need to find my friend. Can you help me track his scent?_ '

The kneazle let out a low, sympathetic growl and shook its head slightly. ' _I like this place_ ,' it responded curtly. ' _I do not want to leave_.'

' _Oh, I understand_ ,' Lyra nodded, sensing protectiveness from the kneazle and noticing its defensive body language. ' _Thank you anyway_.' She smiled kindly at the kneazle, but it had already gone back to watching the toads, swishing its tail in anticipation.

As Lyra stood up, she noticed the young man was still rooted to the spot, waiting, she guessed, to ask her something. Why was he so interested? Most people just wrote her off as mental and went on their way. It wasn't a favorable judgement, but she would rather that than this, especially now that she was supposed to be keeping a lower profile than normal.

Lyra fidgeted slightly, pulling her sleeve over her injured hand a little more, eyes flitting between the man and the floor, not wanting to look at him directly. She yearned to say goodbye to the nifflers, but _he_ was standing right in front of them. Just behind him, she could see the littlest niffler trying to look for her around his enormous figure, and her heart ached a little more. She still hadn't accomplished what she came here for, but this man was now making her feel very exposed, so she made a swift decision. Still rooted to the spot, Lyra began formulating a secondary plan. She could just come back to the shop later to talk with the other two kneazles. She could not take a niffler, she decided, because it would half kill her if she had to leave it back at the shop or with Flamel when she had to go back. She could, at the very least, say a proper goodbye to her new little friend, and thank it for its help.

Plan set, she exhaled sharply and took decisive action.

"E-excuse me," she said in a small voice, and gracefully _bolted_ from the shop, hoping to lose this man outside in the crowd. Escape tactics were always a good choice.

Lyra was frustrated and disheartened, but reassured herself. It would be fine. She would just wait for the man to leave, for he had to go home _eventually_ , and she would be waiting nearby, concealed, until he did. What she was not counting on was that the man would decide to leave at that very moment, and, worse, was trying to catch up to her.

"Please wait!" she heard him call behind her as he weaved through the people almost as fast as she did. "Please? Miss? Miss!"

Lyra's mind resounded with a silent scream. Injured hand clutched tightly to her chest, she picked up the pace, took one strong, bounding step, and disapparated again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ooh~ mystery man~ I realized as I was writing this it seemed to much like he was a creeper, but he's not...not intentionally? I'll get better at writing him, I hope T T.

Seeing as these things are getting increasingly longer, the next part may take some time. _A la prochaine~_

 _ **EDIT:** A previous version of this chapter stated that nifflers were assigned by the Ministry. This has been corrected, the Head Goblin of Gringotts assigns them._


End file.
